


Surgeon's Hands

by SweetSorcery



Category: Master and Commander (movie)
Genre: First Time, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Captain Jack Aubrey, of all men, becomes something of a hypochondriac, Dr Maturin is forced to examine his friend for something potentially quite serious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surgeon's Hands

The first time, it was surreptitious enough for Stephen Maturin to think he might be making it into something more than it was. After all, perhaps Jack was finally learning to be more cautious about his own wellbeing. But it was nonetheless surprising that a man who not long ago had left a great splinter stuck in his neck without taking note of it at all, would suddenly visit the infirmary complaining of a sore throat.

"When did this begin?" Stephen asked, deep concentration furrowing his brow as he gently prodded along Jack's neck with the tips of his fingers; Jack's Adam's apple shifted against them.

"Does it hurt to swallow?" Stephen asked softly.

Jack did indeed sound raspy when he replied, "Oh, quite badly."

"Mmm..." Stephen, not having felt any swelling of the tonsils or glands, requested, "Open your mouth, please."

Jack obliged, and Stephen turned his face towards the lamp dangling overhead to get a better look, while holding Jack's tongue down with a small wooden spatula. "Your throat does not seem to be raw, Jack, but perhaps we are catching a cold in its early stages."

Jack blinked to show he understood, and when Stephen's fingers let go of his chin, his mouth snapped shut. "So what should I do, Stephen?" he asked.

"You do sound a bit husky. I will instruct Killick upon how to prepare you a soothing infusion of herbs. I think that will stop your illness in its very beginnings."

Jack smiled gratefully. "Well then, I had better go back to running the ship." He heaved his strong frame off the infirmary table and made for the door. "Thank you, Stephen," he called out just as he went out the door.

Stephen remained behind, frowning. Truth be told, he could find no evidence of even the slightest cold, but nonetheless felt it important not to tell Jack so. He was most puzzled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jack's next visit to the infirmary came only days later, and at Stephen's questioning gaze, he raised his left hand; his forefinger was wrapped haphazardly in a dirty handkerchief with traces of blood seeping through it.

"What is this, Jack?" Stephen approached the captain and bade him be seated.

"My own clumsiness, I fear," Jack chuckled. "I was showing one of our recently acquired pressed men how to raise a halyard and caught my finger on a nail."

Stephen looked at him suspiciously. "I know I am quite dense in naval matters, Jack, but is this the sort of thing a captain attends to personally?"

Jack, looking suitably chastised, shook his head. "You know how the lubbers are. No use letting them fumble without proper instructions. They will never do a thing right if they get used to mucking about."

"Yes, I suppose." Stephen washed his hands in the basin and stepped close to Jack. "Let me see the damage then."

Jack pulled the cloth roughly from his hand.

"That does look bad, Jack." To his astonishment, Stephen saw a glimmer of delight in Jack's eyes at those words.

"It does?"

"Yes. Here, let me wash the grime off first, so I can have a better look."

Jack was accommodating as never before as he let his friend dip his hand into a clean bowl and rinse it with a jug of water and some vinegar.

"You know, any other day, you would tell me you were quite capable of washing your own hand, and thank you very much," Stephen mused.

Jack coughed and stumbled over his next words. "What do I know, Stephen? You are the doctor, I am quite certain you know best."

Stephen smiled at him. "I hope you will not mind me noting that in my personal log, so I can show it to you when the opportunity arises?"

"Not at all. I wouldn't mind a look at your personal log anyway. I'm sure it would make for fascinating reading." Jack laughed heartily, but his laughter ended in a harsh inhale when Stephen, after dabbing his hand dry, raised it to his mouth and suckled at the wound on the side of his finger. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

Stephen completed the task unhurriedly, observing Jack's face carefully. Unbeknownst to the captain, as he was holding Jack's hand, he was also measuring the pulse fairly racing at the wrist his fingers encircled loosely. When he had convinced himself that the beating there was much too fast for a man sitting prone on a bench, he ceased suckling at the digit between his lips before spitting into the used bowl.

Jack endured all this with wide eyes and a red face.

At last, Stephen gave an explanation. "I was making sure the wound was clean. We cannot risk infection, can we?"

"No! No, we can't." There was an almost hysterical note to Jack's voice.

Stephen proceeded to wrap a clean bandage around the finger, taking care to handle Jack's hand with an even greater degree of tenderness than he used on his other patients. By the time he was done, he noted that Jack's breathing had become rapid enough to match his pulse.

"Done, Jack. How is your throat, by the way?" he asked.

Jack gaped. "My... throat?"

Stephen smiled. "Yes. Is it still sore?"

"Oh." Jack chuckled nervously. "No, not at all." He smiled at Stephen quite tenderly. "You really are a wonderful doctor, my dear." Stephen returned the gaze with equal softness, and their eyes remained locked for quite a while, until Jack shook himself as if to clear his mind and made to leave.

When he had reached the door, Stephen called after him, "Better come back tomorrow, Jack. I want to check and make sure there is no infection."

Jack agreed immediately - unusual in itself - and left the cabin with a big smile, unknowingly leaving one on Stephen's face also.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Jack returned very early the next day, he looked almost abashed.

"Not another injury?" Stephen greeted him.

Jack coughed. "Not as such."

Stephen frowned, awaiting more information.

"I dirtied the wound."

"You _dirtied_ it?" Stephen held his features in check with the greatest effort of will.

Jack sighed and began to unravel the bandage which, Stephen noted, was still fastened perfectly.

"Let me," Stephen offered, and slowly peeled the muslin from Jack's hand, cradling it as he did so. "Did you remove the bandage at any point, Jack?"

"No. I mean... yes. Yes, I did. When I had breakfast. It was too awkward to eat with it."

Stephen looked at him sternly. "You think food might have entered the wound then?" The conversation really was too ridiculous, but it would not do to burst out laughing.

Jack shrugged. "Do you think it possible, Stephen?" He looked as expectant as a child asking for a special treat.

"Difficult to be certain about that, Jack."

"Perhaps you need to... ah..." Jack muttered.

"Clean it again?" Stephen suggested.

Jack nodded, swallowing laboriously.

Stephen could not entirely suppress the mirth in his eyes as he raised Jack's hand and brought the perfectly pristine finger to his lips. He hesitated, not looking at the wound but at Jack's expression, which was quite fascinating.

It was only great control and discipline of will which prevented Jack Aubrey from groaning out loud when his friend suckled at the pad of his finger. He did, however, very nearly faint dead away when Stephen's eyes became calculating, and he inserted the finger up to the knuckle into his mouth and continued to draw out the so-called poison with great enthusiasm.

By the time Jack's finger was released with a moist popping sound, the captain was quite beside himself, and beads of sweat were pearling at his temples. He even failed to notice that Stephen did not spit this time.

"There." Stephen bandaged the finger again. "Better be more careful from now on, Jack."

Jack managed no more than a squeaking sound in response and, awkwardly tugging at his jacket, made for the door. Hurriedly.

Once he had left and Stephen was alone, the surgeon finally allowed his pent-up laughter to escape.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Jack did not return to the infirmary with some dubious excuse for the next two days, Stephen almost began to think he had viewed the entire matter completely out of proportion.

At least until Jack approached him on deck while he was going for an early evening stroll and asked him almost coyly, "Will you come and play with me tonight, Stephen?"

Stephen smirked. "I fear I cannot, Jack. There is still so much cataloguing to be done for my latest collections. You understand, certainly."

Jack's face fell and the expectant light vanished from his eyes. "I... Yes, of course." And without another word, he turned and went below, leaving Stephen behind feeling rather low and dastardly.

Some time later, when Stephen sat with a cigar over some paperwork that, truth be told, could easily have waited for his attention a few more days, the door to the infirmary was pushed open quite suddenly. He turned, his jaw falling open.

In the doorway stood Jack clutching a flask of something - rum, no doubt - and staring at him glassy-eyed. At the same time, he was holding one big hand protectively over his left buttock. The sight would have been comical were there not a real expression of pain on his face.

"My dear!" Stephen exclaimed, hurrying to help his friend inside. "What happened?"

Jack muttered something incomprehensible, and Stephen was shocked to find he was quite drunk. "You are injured?" he asked.

In lieu of verbal confirmation, Jack squinted and leaned over the large sea chest in the centre of the room, setting down his flask on the other side of it.

Stephen gasped at the blood stain spreading rapidly across Jack's backside and, without ceremony, he tore the breeches and undergarments down and began to examine the area with all due professionalism.

Jack groaned in pain when Stephen's fingers made contact with the culprit - a large shard of glass which had gone right through his clothing.

"I am sorry, Joy. I will try not to hurt you again," Stephen whispered. "Here, lie down on your stomach." He helped Jack into a more comfortable position, and quickly and professionally went about finding bandaging and disinfecting it.

He worked in silence for a few minutes, halfway glad that Jack was sufficiently inebriated not to feel excessive pain when he pulled out the glass with one quick, straight tug. Immediately pressing a bandage to the wound hard and holding it there, he observed Jack, whose head had snapped up from lolling about dazedly; he was now looking straight ahead with a tense, slightly shocked expression.

Stephen smiled despite himself. "Tell me you did not sit yourself down on this intentionally."

Jack grunted something incomprehensible.

"You know of course, I am quite aware your previous complaints were faked."

The grunting sounded more petulant.

Pressing the bandage down a little harder, Stephen said, "You might have simply told me you wished to spend more time with me."

"It's rather more than that," Jack muttered.

Smiling more broadly, Stephen removed the bandage and affixed a clean, dry one in its place. "I rather thought it might be." He fastened the captain's clothing back in place, determinedly not peeking more than necessary.

Jack turned over slowly and rose up a little, wincing when this scraped his backside over the edge of the chest. He almost looked to be blushing, but Stephen graciously chose to blame it on the alcohol. "I did not sit on the glass on purpose."

"Oh?"

"I smashed it after you turned me down earlier," Jack began to explain, sobering up remarkably quickly. "And once I had been at the rum for some time, I fear I fell down--" He cleared his throat.

"--on your backside?" Stephen checked.

"On my backside." Jack fairly pouted.

Stephen manfully resisted the laughter bubbling up within him, and when Jack made a visible effort to regain his dignity and composure and straighten himself up before him, he waited expectantly.

"The cough and the finger - well..." Jack met Stephen's eyes boldly. "They seemed a good excuse to feel the touch of your hands."

Stephen smiled tenderly at him. He raised a hand and traced his fingers along Jack's temple, then his cheek, and then the outline of his lips. "You need no excuses, Joy. These hands are yours."

Jack was breathing heavily. He stopped Stephen's exploratory fingers by closing his big hand firmly around them, then pressed his lips to them. "You mean I need only ask?"

"I mean..." It was Stephen's turn to run short of breath when Jack kissed his palm and, as his lips moved down towards his wrist, drew him closer with his other hand.

"Yes, Plum?" Jack nibbled at Stephen's wrist, his arm around the narrow waist as he met the soft gaze directed at him.

"I mean," Stephen tried again, whimpering when Jack, with one possessive hand venturing well below his waist, pulled him hard against himself. "I mean, you need only take."

Jack groaned against the supple skin of Stephen's forearm and raised it to wrap it around his own neck. "I would not wish to intrude unduly upon your time, my busy friend."

"Jack," Stephen gasped against the lips waiting politely for his permission. "You may intrude upon me any time." He smiled into the not-quite-yet-kiss. "I'm all yours, captain."

"By God, you are!" Jack agreed roughly, then staked his claim.

The End


End file.
